---

In the hushed silence shared between great oak trunks and the inhabitants between, daybreak sun began to hazily filter through the dense canopy top.  Slivers of smouldering warmth broke through the stillness, slithering between the whisper of leaves hanging overhead.  Through the dim dawn I watched her breaths drawn beneath the fur-lined coverlet we shared. 

My gaze lingered overlong on the curve of her shoulder, the flirting glimpse of naked flesh leading from the bite-bruised arch of her dainty neck.  Primal claim.  Archaic meaning to the worshipers of yonder days.  It took all of my restraint not to pull her closer against the hewn plane of my chest, to rip away the silk from her milky skin and claim again and again the flesh beneath until I was all but exhausted.

I had claimed the lives of three river lords.  I have slain my share of mortal men few of whom I dared called friend.  My body was the mirror image of a warrior, of an Adonian God carved to the likeness of war-torn Ares now forgotten by these modern times.  Why, then, did she make me feel so... weak?

There was hesitance in the way my arm snaked away from her sleeping waist to gingerly push away the collar of her nightshirt to fully feast upon the skin beneath. 

She was velvet where I was grit.  Her body was trained for the temple, for kneeling before the statue of my likeness and praying with dulcet words that I may listen, that I may free her people from the torment of the river lords.  I would unite them under one king so that they could live in peace without fear of death and dismay.  She was soft whereas I was stone.  A reminder awakened as the tips of my fingers glissaded down that love-torn flesh with feathered softness, a contrast to the feral, rutting beast the night before.

"Stay, my precious Moonlight."  I'd murmur against the tempting curve of her ear.

Before she could stir I was gone but a short distance from our temporary camp, tossing myself into the cold of the river to scavenge for her a meal to replenish her strength all the while keeping her just in my peripherals.  A handful of trout and other native fish were our prize and I didn't waste any time igniting the embers of last night's flame and tossing their corpses upon it.  From beyond the dancing light, I watched her, the faintest flick of a smile entertaining my mouth.

"We should be getting close now, Moonlight."  My voice was rough and deep.  A stark contrast to the tone of humans.  The vibrant hue of my iris lowered to the flame-scorched wood on the fire.  "Are you ready to become a Goddess?" 

---

 She was hyper aware of him. The slight change in his breathing signaling that he was waking; the instinctual feel of those luminous eyes raking against her skin. She had to resist the temptation to shudder beneath that weight with each and every fiber of her being. For to know she was awake would be akin to inviting his attention again. Her body ached, but more than that, her heart shuddered avid disgust within the hollow of her chest. There was trepidation, fear that bloomed like a nestle of thorns around it, cradling it in a tempestuous grasp, one that was just as threatening as he. How could such a nightmare spring forth as if from nowhere?

She had never received attention from their proposed god before, she had not glimpsed his likeness in any way save for the statue that they were trained to worship. That she was taught the death's dance for. It was an elden practice, one that combined carefully manicured steps and the sainting of water magic. Not once had he ever graced her performances with his presence. Not as she glided to the heavy pulse of the drums across the placid surface of dark waters.

Would she have only known, could she have saved him?

The tears threatened her eyes again, they stung and bit at the precipice of her lash line. She'd have clenched her lids to halt them, but that would perhaps hint that she was not slumbering. Still yet, like the very marble he had been carved from once upon a time, she remained wholly inert as his arm departed and she welcomed the cold that embedded itself against her flesh in its wake. Though she did not dare to hope for his absence for too long as dread settled like a pressing weight against her breast as instead those fingers pushed against the fabric of her gown.

A small sob escaped her, then, unbidden but undeniable. She would curl in upon herself, trying to remain small. How she longed to have been something other than a shrine maiden. How she now insisted she be anything other than the mere dancer bidding farewell to those souls departed. That she had cursed his prowess instead of celebrating what she thought would be the liberation of her people - their safety. To think she had once also thought him a god. Would they still think the same if they had witnessed the way he bled under the scrape of her nails, the meaningless defenses she had presented? Would they still hail and worship him? Deities didn't bleed. But he did. No god. Only a monster. One that whispered: "Stay, my precious Moonlight."

And she would.
For what else could she do?

Just like that, he was gone, but she had learned that no matter if she could see him or not, she was never alone. He was just on the edge of shadows, just beneath the water's surface. Just beyond a tree. Escape was hopeless and the effort was in vain each time she had tried, until finally threats had further stayed her actions. If she did not remain at his side, he would flood the isle of her origin. He would raise the tides and drown them all. And though she knew him to be no god, she also held no doubts to the level of his power to commit that animosity. He had, already, proven such barbaric brutality all too well within his grasp. "We should be getting close now, Moonlight."

His voice swept over her like coddled milk, and it was a glare of darkened, sleep deprived eyes that would meet the pleased glimpse of his expression. She remained within the cover of the tent, her hands shaking as they pulled tightly together the ruined silk of her only cover. She was a stranger to this sensation, this red-hot coal that had lodged itself along the brambles and holes that perforated her chest. Disdain was not nearly close enough to the level of loathing that she suffered for him. She feared that she would never find a word to describe it. "Are you ready to become a Goddess?" Her expression was unchanging as was the nausea that pooled within her. Her vocals housed a soft tremor.

"Nothing you will ever make me will be holy."